By Cynthia Lepore Rivelli
Class of 1960

Her eyes were the perfect cliche,
They twinkled,
Sparkled, flashed,
They could be steely,
But,
Most often,
They laughed
And the warmth
Of that laughter,
Coaxed, encouraged and
Reassured those of
Us who didn't know
Who we were or
Where we were going.
There was a startle in
Her laughter,
A small catch in the voice
As if our words
Truly amazed her-
And so they did.

She bathed us in
Metaphors and similes
- her own blue bride,
Anais' technicolor birth -
And asked us
To find our own-
And so we did.

She had us make
Paper-doll poems
To take us places
We had never been
And transfigure feelings
We would never admit
to fill the caverns of
Our silences with
Words, words, words.

We stayed in touch
And I paraded
The men in my life
Past her performances-
Paolo at Malarme ,
Bill at Shakespeare,
And once more,
At Walt Whitman,
Taylor at the
Folder celebration-
Seeking approval of
Things done and
Hiding the things
Left undone.
She reminded me of
The dreams I shared,
The children I painted
The places I imagined
In words, words, words,

And when I was
Great with child,
In the corner of
90th and Broadway,
She asked me,
"Are you still writing?"
And I side-stepped,
"I will haunt you if you stop."
And so she does.

I hear the catch
In her voice
And see laughter
In her eyes
I embrace her presence
And thank her
For stopping by,
And we embark
On journeys
To the places
We have been,
With the people
We have known
Knowing who we are,
Where we've come from
And where we are going-
In words, words, words.